


stars fashioned into flesh and bone

by norudeghosts



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Non-human characters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, horror themes, non-graphic animal death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2020-08-18 19:33:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20196955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norudeghosts/pseuds/norudeghosts
Summary: Out in the wilderness lie the bones of a dead god.(Chan just wanted somewhere quiet to make music. Things spiral wildly out of his control from there.)





	1. isolation

**Author's Note:**

> a handful of notes before we begin:
> 
> 1\. this story IS going to be creepy/gruesome at points even if that's not the ultimate focus  
2\. in a similar vein this story is not going to be light-hearted and isn't going to necessarily have a happy ending  
3\. there's a lot of discussion of dark themes in this even if they aren't directly visible  
4\. and yes, there will eventually be sexual themes and acts
> 
> if any of this makes you uncomfortable, please click back! otherwise, enjoy!

Chan drops the last box of his belongings on the ground, surveying the inside of the cabin. It’s small, just the main room, bathroom, and small recording booth, but the studio equipment lining one wall is his main focus.

The city was full of distractions, and when he’d heard about this cabin that some of the other producers had used to make their own albums, it was hard to resist. Sure, Jisung and Changbin not being able to come with him (neither having graduated yet) made it a little lonelier, but that made sure it was just him and his music.

He hadn’t really expected exactly how _ quiet _ it was out this far, though. Sure, there is a small town just a fifteen minute drive from him, but having spent his entire life bouncing from big city to big city, the silence of the trees around him feels almost deafening.

Not to mention being a twenty hour drive from anyone he actually knew, and the fact that cell phone reception out here is exactly nil, leaving him entirely reliant on the hard lines leading to the cabin? Jisung had declared it the start of some dumb horror movie, that he was absolutely going to die, and to make sure he uploaded all his tracks _ before _ he ‘got serial murdered’.

(Of course, Jisung had also teared up and hugged him so tightly Chan was sure he was going to break something before he actually left, so his jokes fell a little flat.)

As delightful as the idea of unpacking is, his growling stomach reminds him that he kind of needs to make sure the fridge is stocked _ before _ getting totally lost in his music. The sounds of the door shutting and the crunch of his boots over the gravel are almost deafening in the silence; it’s too close to winter for there to be much left in the way of insects, and he hadn’t seen anything bigger than a squirrel the entire time he was unloading his truck.

What he _ had _ seen was a small grocery store in the little town he had come in through- Panstow? Pamstow?- and if he’s quick he can probably make it before they close.

The dirt access road back to the two-lane highway isn’t the most welcoming path to drive, but the whole trip back into town (‘Padstow’, the faded sign declares, and he catches himself making a face at his own memory) is entirely uneventful. It isn’t long until he pulls up to the largest building in the small town- a bright sign on the top of the building labels it ‘Yang’s Grocery’, evidently painted by the same person who had done the signage for all their specials in the windows.

“Welcome to Yang’s grocery- oh, you’re new.” The boy -and he is a boy, couldn’t be a day older than eighteen if even that- standing behind the counter drowns out the bell with his yelled greeting, blinking at Chan with obvious surprise. His apron is an ugly yellow, tied haphazardly over a baggy red hoodie, and it kind of hurts his eyes to look at for too long. “Tourist?”

“Thanks. Something like that, yeah.” Chan gives him a quick, awkward smile, snagging one of the baskets near the door. The place itself is fairly well lit and smells a little strongly of cleaning fluid, but it seems normal enough in spite of the overwhelming amount of _ yellow _ the owners had decided to decorate it with.

Even though he’d been as much of a frazzled college student as Changbin and Jisung until just a few months ago, he’d always tried to make a point to actually cook versus just surviving on whatever instant food they picked up from the convenience store. He’s pretty sure that would be _ all _ his roommates ate if he didn’t, which isn’t the healthiest thing for any twenty-something. But now that all he has to focus on is his music, he plans to make the most of it.

“Woah.” The boy blinks at his nearly overflowing basket when he sets it on the counter, and he’s almost embarrassed by it. This close Chan can see a nametag, clearly homemade, pinned to the apron, spelling out ‘JEONGIN’ in crooked letters. “You’re _ not _ just passing through, I guess.” He thinks the letters are construction paper; the ‘N’ looks like it’s about to fall off.

“Ah, yeah, I’m actually renting the cabin up north of town. I’ll be around for a few months, so I guess you’ll see me for a while.” The smile he gives feels awkward, but he gets a mouthful of braces in response. Jeongin looks a lot younger when he smiles. “I’m Chan.”

Jeongin points to the raggedy nametag, unloading the basket and starting to mechanically ring up all his food. The faint _ beep _ of each barcode scanning almost echoes, and for the first time he notices there isn’t actually any music or anything in the store. It’s more unnerving than it should be. “I’m Jeongin. My dad owns this place so you’ll probably see me a lot, unless you want to drive like half an hour further out for food. That creepy ass cabin out in the middle of nowhere, off the service road from the highway, right? There’s been a couple people talking about music stuff that have mentioned it since the owner renovated it.”

“Yeah, that’s the one, I think.” He forces a chuckle, because it hadn’t really seemed that creepy until Jeongin actually said that. “The music equipment is top of the line, though, and that’s what I’m more concerned with. Plus no cell reception just means fewer distractions-”

Jeongin interrupts him, gesturing with a tomato in the general direction Chan had driven from. “Wait, there’s really no reception up there? There’s a tower, like, two miles away. Everyone always says their radios and phones and stuff stop working out on that stretch of highway.” Something crawls up Chan’s spine. He had figured it was just how rural the area was, but hearing that… Sure enough, a discreet check of his phone shows a full four bars and a handful of texts waiting for him. Jeongin doesn’t seem to notice his unease. “I thought they were just trying to creep me out.”

Chan bites at the inside of his lip, stares at the little message icon for a long second. “It’s probably just the trees. Technology isn’t always reliable, you know.” It’s a reasonable explanation. He shoves his phone back in his pocket; he’ll call Changbin before he heads back to the cabin.

“I guess.” Jeongin doesn’t look convinced. His braces glint a little in the light when his nose scrunches up in disbelief. “Or it’s the ghost.”

That catches his attention, even though Jeongin doesn’t even look up from the groceries this time. “Ghost?”

The boy shrugs, wrapping some of the meat he bought in plastic before stuffing it in a paper bag. “The truckers talk about him sometimes. He’s like a hitchhiker, kinda. Gets them to stop, asks for a ride, then he gets out in the middle of nowhere. Apparently it wakes them up and they can get to the next stop without drifting off or anything?”

“Huh.” Chan isn’t sure how to respond to that; he’s never really believed in ghosts, but he wouldn’t call himself a skeptic, exactly. “Polite ghost.”

“Yep.” Jeongin drags the vowel out, stabbing at the keys on his register to pull up the total. Chan only faintly registers it, swiping his bank card without thought. The whole area has felt odd since he arrived, but he had figured that was just the difference between being used to the constant movement and sound of the city versus the stillness of the countryside.

Maybe there’s more to it than that.

He thanks Jeongin as he takes his bags, getting a wave in return before the teenager returns to toying with his phone behind the counter. It’s almost a relief to get back outside of the store, the low roar of traffic from the nearby highway better than the oppressive quiet inside. He lets out a breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding, piling the bags in the back of his truck before sliding into the driver’s seat.

Instead of turning the truck on right away, Chan fishes his phone back out of his pocket, staring for a long moment at the tiny message icon. The fact that he had _ no _ reception out at the cabin, even so close to a cell tower was a little odd, but surely it wasn’t that big of a deal. Right?

Right.

A quick text reassuring his mother he’d call her later, and Chan hits the button to dial Changbin- he was horrible about answering texts, but he’d usually answer actual calls. (Unlike Jisung, who hit the ignore button on literally everyone but his mother or boyfriend. Including, on one notable occasion, almost losing his scholarship because he had ignored the call informing him to renew it.)

"_Chan!_” Changbin answers after only two rings, voice clear, if tinny, through his phone speaker. “_We were starting to think you forgot about us._”

Jisung is more muffled, but his voice is still audible enough to make out. "_Channie didn’t get serial murdered yet! _”

Chan breathes a laugh, some of the tension in his shoulders bleeding out at the sound of their voices. He hates it a little, how this place has set him on edge so fast, but he figures once he’s wrapped up in actually making music like he came here to do he won’t notice so much. “Tell Jisung I’m not going to get murdered, or anything like that. How are you guys? Did you eat something other than fast food today?”

There's a jostling noise, and based on how much louder Jisung is now, it was probably him stealing the phone away from Changbin. "_You left us enough food for like a week, we have a little while before we have to fend for ourselves like savages. How is it out there? Creepy? Have you met any serial killers yet?_"

"Serial killers don't exactly introduce themselves, but the only person I've met is a kid who works at the grocery store in town. And…" He wants to say it isn't creepy, that there's nothing wrong with this place aside from being a lot more quiet than he's used to. But the dumb ghost rumor sticks in his head, the unsettling sound of florescent lights and mechanical beeps not dulled by idle music, and he hesitates. "It's really quiet out here. It's weird, but I'll get used to it."

More jostling, some static, then he's pretty sure he's on speaker based on the white noise increasing. "_Just don't get so wrapped up you forget to sleep, I am _ ** _not_ ** _ going on a twenty hour road trip with Jisung just to force your sorry ass into bed._" Jisung protests in the background, and Chan can't help but laugh.

Missing them is going to be the hardest part of the entire trip; the three of them have been pretty much inseparable since they met, and now he’s going to be out in the middle of nowhere for a few months with relatively little contact with them. Part of that makes his chest hurt. "Don't worry, I'll make sure I get plenty of sleep. I promise. You guys just focus on your school stuff, okay? I'll be back before you know it with a bunch of new tracks for us."

"_They better be amazing, if you're ditching us to go full hermit making them._" It's so easy for him to _ hear _ the pout in Jisung's voice, and he can't help his smile. Knowing that they care about him this much, that they’re going to miss him as much as he misses them. “_Seriously, Channie, be safe okay? We can’t be 3Racha if there’s only two of us._”

He laughs again, softer this time. “You know it, Sungie. You guys go study or something, I’m gonna head back to the cabin before it gets dark. I’ll call you guys from the landline tonight or in the morning so you have the number, okay?”

“_You better! Love you Channie!_” Jisung sing-songs the words, and Changbin snorts loudly. Another round of loud shifting noises in his ear, and he’s pretty sure he’s off speaker this time.

“_You sure you’re good out there, Channie?_” And that’s Changbin, all black everything and ‘I-love-dark’ Changbin, always so soft and concerned about everyone he cared about.

Chan can’t help his smile, doesn’t even try to fight it. “I’m fine Binnie. Just keep an eye on our squirrel, alright? Make sure he doesn’t fail all his classes or eat nothing but candy or something. I really will be back soon.”

“_Alright. You know we love you, Channie, stay in touch._”

“Love you guys too.”

Then the call ends, and he’s left in the silence again.

He inhales slowly, holds his breath, exhales in a big rush. It’s stupid, to be this rattled, and he physically shakes himself to try and chase it off. It doesn’t make sense for the motion to help settle his nerves, but it does. “You’re being paranoid, don’t let the stupid ghost story get to you.” He mumbles the words as he starts his truck, the familiar rumble of the engine helping to soothe his nerves. Normally he’s not the scaredy cat who gets tripped up on urban legends, but there was something so… _ casual _, in how Jeongin had talked about it, that somehow crawls under his skin and settles there.

The drive is quiet, just the hum of his radio spitting out whatever top forty pop song that came on the only station he could pick up, but that changes as he swings off the highway and further on to the access road- almost seconds later, everything fades into static.

It’s unsettling, to say the least, even if it’s just the canopy of trees overhead causing it.

With the sun mostly set, the woods are dark enough that he needs his headlights to properly see the path, only dimly registering the trees forming a wall, dark and imposing, around him. The cabin isn’t far off the road, maybe another two or three minutes, and frankly he’ll be happy to get out, unpack, stretch a bit-

Movement catches his attention, white and blue in his peripheral vision, and he slams on his brakes.

Something raw and primal crawls up his spine, and for a long few seconds he feels absolutely paralysed, unable to do anything but stare straight ahead. Everything in his head _ screams _ for him to just gun it, press the pedal as far as it can go, because something is _ staring _ at him.

And then there’s nothing there.

At least, not _ anymore_.

Chan stares out into the darkness, the direction of the movement, until his eyes hurt. He had been so _ sure _ he saw something- he could have sworn there was a person, someone wandering slowly down the side of the road, but that made no sense. They could never move that fast, get that deep in the woods, to be totally out of sight just a split second later.

Maybe that ghost story had shaken him more than he thought.


	2. teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first snow comes three days after Chan arrives to the cabin. (So does something else.)

The first snow comes three days after Chan arrives to the cabin. It’s not a blizzard, not even close, but there’s a few inches coating the ground and ice dripping from the branches, and somehow it only seems to enhance the quiet of the woods.

He’s spent the prior days buried in his work, headphones on and practically lost to the world except for a handful of phone calls back and forth with Changbin, but this morning he decides to venture out onto the covered porch with his coffee. The air is bitterly cold, even through his sweatshirt. Australia to Los Angeles didn’t leave him with much in the way of cold resistance.

In spite of how unsettling the quiet was originally, it’s almost peaceful now. It’s still early, the sun having risen just enough to send soft rays through the canopy of trees, and if he was more of a photography person he’d try to take a picture. As it is, he just settles himself on the chilly wood of the porch, toes curling inside thick socks. He finds himself slowly zoning out, sipping at his coffee and replaying the verse he’d been working on the night before in his head.

Then the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stand up and he freezes, cup halfway to his mouth.

Whatever it was from the first night is staring at him again.

Chan doesn’t know how he knows it’s the same thing, but he _ does_, down to his bones. His tongue feels like lead in his mouth, and that same frozen sensation crawls across his body. He wants to get up, bolt back inside the cabin, but he can’t make himself move.

This time, he looks.

The first thing he really registers is dark, dark eyes. The rest of the image fills out seconds later, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the ones staring at him. Dark eyes framed by dark grey hair, and some part of Chan notices they’re set in such a pretty face, but it does nothing to stop the panic flooding his chest.

He drops the cup, and it shatters against the edge of the porch.

It’s _ loud_, echoes across the entire clearing like a gunshot, and he instinctively looks down.

By the time he looks up again, just a split second later, the figure is gone.

He doesn’t think he’s ever moved so fast in his life as when he bolts back inside the cabin, leaving the broken ceramic scattered across the porch and hot coffee dripping into the snow.

It takes him a long second to realize his hands are trembling against the door as he locks it, heart hammering in his chest, and he drops his forehead against the wood with a soft thud. Now that the moment has passed, he feels _ stupid_. He just panicked for no reason, it was probably just a hiker or something passing through and he acted like an absolute _ idiot_.

It sounds so simple, so plausible, he almost believes it.

But hikers don’t go out in this weather in thin shirts, don’t wander around barefoot on fresh snow.

He doesn’t sleep much that night.

* * *

Chan finds a cat on the porch about a week into his stay. It’s a pretty tabby thing, bigger than he’s used to cats being, and he half expects it to run as soon as he steps outside. Instead, it watches him carefully from its perch on the porch railing, gold eyes following his every move. He winds up leaving a small piece of bacon on the top step as a peace offering, watches through the window as the tabby jumps down and devours it in seconds.

He winds up buying a bag of cat food on his next trip into town. Jeongin stares at it in confusion, nose scrunching up. “You brought your cat with you?” He sounds a little judgemental, and Chan cringes internally.

“Not exactly? A stray cat showed up outside the cabin and I can’t just let it starve...” His explanation trails off and he rubs at the back of his neck. It sounds almost dumb saying it out loud, but he can’t stand the thought of seeing the stray and _ not _ doing something to help it.

Jeongin gives him a blank, almost thoughtful stare, and Chan can feel his ears burning. “Never heard anyone talk about a stray cat out that far. They usually don’t make it that long.” He rings up the bag anyways, setting it beside the rest of the groceries Chan had grabbed. “You do know leaving out cat food is probably going to attract things you don’t want to show up, right?”

Something about the way Jeongin says it makes his guts twist with anxiety. He knows, logically, that he probably means the local wildlife. It doesn’t stop his mind from leaping to dark eyes and ice down his spine.

Chan does his best to shake it off, forcing a smile on his face as he pays again. There’s still no music and no other customers, the only sound other than their talk the low hum of the fluorescent lights, and he briefly wonders how Jeongin stands it all day- he hasn’t seen another employee, either, now that he thinks about it. “So I take it your parents mostly work in the back and just let you handle the register?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Jeongin shrugs one shoulder, putting his bags up on the counter. Chan takes them absently, balancing them easily with one arm. “Have a good day, Chan.”

The obvious dismissal is a little strange, considering how open Jeongin had seemed until then, but Chan gathers up his bags, gives Jeongin a small smile, heads back out to his truck. Heaving himself into the driver’s seat, he pauses with his hand on the keys.

He thinks about blue and white in headlights, eyes boring into him.

A shudder runs down his spine at the memory, and for a second he doesn’t even turn the keys. Shaking his head, he cranks the engine. The sun won’t set for another few hours; he won’t need the headlights.

He just hopes that’s enough.

* * *

The cat is gone by the time he gets back, and he doesn’t have a ‘real’ food bowl, but he makes due, sets out a small plate full of the cat food that evening when he finishes eating. Chan figures the worst case scenario is the cat doesn't come back, and he spent a few dollars for no reason. He doesn't think too much about it after he shuts the door, just dives right back in to working on the track he's been trying to perfect the past few days. It’s hours before anything strikes him as odd, and for a second he almost thinks he’s imagining it.

But he can’t figure out why, exactly, he would imagine the smell of rotten meat. Chan pulls his headphones down with a frown. He’s pretty sure he put all the groceries away right, and even if he hadn’t, nothing should have gone bad _ that _ quickly-

There’s a loud scraping noise from the porch.

He can almost _ feel _ his heart skip a beat.

Everything in him screams at him not to turn around, not to look at the windows leading out to the porch. He does anyway, even though he knows there's no lights outside, just whatever spills through the window panes. For a long moment, all he sees is the single post visible from the window, lit starkly against the pitch black of the forest. Chan catches himself thinking he may have even imagined it, just the anxiety of being in the middle of nowhere catching up to him, but the _ smell _ burns itself in his nostrils and he knows he didn’t. It has to be some sort of animal, maybe even the cat.

He starts to get up from his chair, but then there’s a flash of movement and he can’t make himself move. That wasn’t a paw.

But hands weren’t supposed to have claws like that.

That’s the only thing that keeps repeating in his head, even as he watches them carve deep gouges into the porch post, even as it suddenly rips away, almost like _ whatever _ was lashing out at something.

Something outside _ screams_, too loud and too close, and Chan jolts so strongly his laptop nearly topples off the edge of the desk behind him. His throat feels like it’s closed up entirely, and he knows his hands are trembling, because he has no idea what the hell could _ possibly _ make that sound.

The scream repeats, followed by a wet cracking noise, a thud, and then silence.

Chan just stares out the window, eyes fixed on the scratches on the post. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t even breathed, knows the whole thing took maybe ten seconds, but those ten seconds feel like all eternity like this. “What the fuck.” He finally whispers, slowly pulling his headphones off his neck. He’s not sure why he’s talking; maybe just to hear _ something _ that anchors him back to reality, where there aren’t strange fucked-up creatures lurking outside the cabin. “What the _ fuck._”

The smell is fading, at least, and he almost wants to think he imagined it. Just some bizarre hallucination brought on by being alone and awake too long.

But the scratches don’t go away, no matter how long he looks or how hard he tries to convince himself they aren’t real.

He swallows, sets his headphones down blindly behind him. It’s probably a small miracle he doesn’t knock his laptop all the way off the desk.

It’s nearly an hour before he can make himself look away to shut everything down.

* * *

Chan finds himself stalling as long as possible before he dares to venture onto the porch. The gouges are still there, harsh and glaring in the daylight, and he wishes he could just pretend nothing happened. But he _ has _ to check.

His hands are shaking when he touches the door handle, and it takes everything in him to convince himself to open the door. Whatever it was has to be gone by now, and if nothing else he has to assess the damage.

Maybe Jisung had been right. Maybe all of this, coming here alone to try and make music, renting out this cabin in the middle of fucking nowhere, was a bad idea.

It just didn’t look like it was a _ human _ that was going to kill him.

Taking a deep breath, he pulls the door open. The stench from the night before lingers out here, and he instinctively covers his nose, barely managing not to gag. Post aside, there doesn’t seem to be much damage to the porch itself from whatever it was, at least.

The blood, on the other hand, is a little bit more overwhelming. Smears of it cover the steps and he can see a long trail leading into the trees, half-hidden by the gleam of the morning dew. He's sure if he wasn’t half frozen from the shock of seeing it, blatant proof that last night wasn’t some sleep-deprived hallucination, his legs probably would have gone out from underneath him by now. He swallows, brings one hand up to rub his eyes. “Fuck.” His voice sounds hoarse, a little strange even to him. “Fuck fuck _ fuck_.”

How is he supposed to react to this? This is so far outside of anything he’s ever dealt with, anything he could have ever _ anticipated _ dealing with, he doesn’t even know where to begin.

Then he notices out of the corner of his eye the cat food is half gone. Chan feels his guts twist with guilt, because _ fuck_, what if whatever that was had gotten drawn in by the cat, and…

He’d just wanted to take care of it. Fat lot of good that did, it looks like.

He hesitates to actually step out onto the porch, the wood chilly under his bare feet, but he can’t just leave it out here. He can’t risk drawing another poor cat for whatever it was to rip apart.

As soon as his hand touches the plate, he hears a loud yowl, and he almost dumps the entire thing over in surprise.

The pretty tabby from the day before leaps down off the porch railing, meowing loudly at him before setting both feet on the plate as if to stop him from picking it up. Wide gold eyes blink up at him, and the cat meows again, softer this time.

"Well hi pretty thing." Chan murmurs, letting go of the plate in favor of offering his hand out for the tabby to sniff. It does so faintly, carefully examining his fingertips before rubbing against his fingers. "And here I was thinking you got hurt." Which clearly isn't the case, not when the cat is right here purring under his fingers.

That still leaves him the uncomfortable question of what the blood _ was _ from.

His eyes slip off to the trail leading into the woods- there was enough wind or snow fall at some point in the night that he can't make out any sort of tracks. Just the long, blood-soaked trail where _ something _ was clearly dragged off.

He’s getting the increasing impression he’s more than a little over his head out here.


	3. ghosting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cat raises her head, meowing loudly, and leaps off him to take the stairs in two quick leaps.

“So how do I always seem to wind up here when you have absolutely no other customers?” Chan watches Jeongin ring up his usual batch of groceries, hands shoved awkwardly in the pocket of his hoodie. By the fourth trip, the oddness of the silence barely even touches him anymore.

Jeongin’s sweater is neon green today; somehow, it manages to look even worse with the yellow apron than the red hoodie did. He shrugs one shoulder lazily, frowning when one item tries not to scan. “The rest of the town is off at worship,” The exact phrasing feels weird, but it’s probably just a small town thing. Jeongin smacks the machine, grumbling for a moment until it beeps loudly. “I hate this thing.” Chan notices absently he’s replaced the second N on his nametag, the letter now a bright blue and even more clearly construction paper. It’s weirdly charming.

“Technology can be a pain sometimes, yeah,” Admittedly, the way Jeongin’s glaring at the register is more cute than threatening, and Chan has to fight the urge to laugh. “You’d think it would behave better, if you’re its main company.”

“I’m pretty sure if it could figure out how to start a rebellion against me with the freezers, it would,” Jeongin’s answer is so flat Chan can’t muffle a snort, getting him a wry smile in return. The teenager passes him his bags, nose scrunching up when he hands over the cat food. “You’re still dumb for feeding that cat.”

Chan shrugs bashfully, adjusting the bags on his arms. “Maybe, but it’s good company at least. I’ll see you next week, Jeongin!” It’s almost routine now, loading everything up and making the relatively short drive back to the cabin.

He’s never been able to convince himself to wait long enough for dark to settle again, not after the first night.

The cat greets him with a loud yowl as soon as he arrives, leaping off the porch railing and doing its best to try and trip him as he unloads the groceries. “Alright, alright, calm down,” he scolds without any heat, laughing through the words. “I’ll feed you in just a minute.” He keeps his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him, watches the tabby as it darts around his legs.

It’s easier than looking at the marks.

Once he gets the door open, the cat follows him inside and meows loudly, hopping up on the counter to watch him unpack his own food. “Someone is impatient today.” He reaches out one hand, manages to get a quick pat to the top of its head before it squirms away- for as much as it’s hung around, it still doesn’t seem keen to have him touching it too much. He’s still not sure if it’s male or female, even, not being willing to try manhandling it to check with how cautious it still is around him. Those claws look _ sharp_.

_ Not as sharp as others_, his brain provides, and he shuts down the train of thought before it can go too far.

The routine of putting everything away, cleaning the dish for the cat food and refilling it, it all helps soothe his rattled nerves again. He hates the way that he catches himself staring at the windows blankly for long moments, waiting for- something, anything to prove he isn’t losing his mind from the isolation. But the treeline stays still and silent under his gaze and he tries to pretend it’s all fine.

It's easier once he settles back into the desk chair, trying not to think about the window behind him, the bright wood a jarring contrast to the more weathered surface that had been exposed for so much longer. He can almost ignore it, act like it was just something he missed when he first rented the cabin.

But sometimes the stench of rotting meat burns in his nose for just a moment, lingering like an afterthought, and it makes him want to vomit.

In spite of everything, Chan still finds himself able to come up with a fair amount of tracks, matching beats to the lyrics Jisung has been reading off on their phone calls and making adjustments where he and Changbin already discussed. It’s enough to keep his mind off everything else; off blue and white in headlights, screams from the porch, blood smeared across the snow. By the time he zones back in, the sun has set, and the clock on his laptop flashes 9:37.

His bank account’s probable unhappiness with him over the decision to cook all his own meals is second to the ritual at this point. It’s something stable he can focus on outside the music, familiar but still needing enough attention he can’t let himself drift too far.

Chan catches himself pausing in the middle of chopping vegetables, watching the exposed windows to the porch for a long moment. The dark seems almost endless without the light of the moon, hidden behind heavy cloud cover, and something in his chest clenches.

It only takes a few minutes to cover them with spare sheets. The sound of knife hitting cutting board is as soothing as any track he’s ever made.

* * *

The clouds break the next day, letting sunlight pour over the snow. It’s so blindingly bright he can see it even through his makeshift curtains, colored light spilling across the cabin’s floorboards in strange patterns.

The cat meows impatiently at him as soon as Chan opens the door, coffee mug in one hand and bowl full of cat food in the other. “I’m here, I’m here, I have your breakfast,” He would feel a little crazy talking to the cat like this, but they almost seem to understand him, padding over to the plate serving as a makeshift food dish and sitting down to wait. Clearly he takes too long to get over there, earning another meow before he pours the food out. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to starve you.”

Setting the bowl down beside him, he takes his seat on the edge of the porch again, watching the stillness of the forest. The few weeks he’s been here has made it easier to spot the little indications of life; birds flitting about in the treetops, small flashes of movement he’s pretty sure are squirrels. Chan would have thought the forest quieted more in the winter, but he supposes that’s a very city thing to think. The steam from his coffee floats into his vision, and he takes a slow sip, letting it warm his lips.

A quiet meow catches his attention, and before he can even react the cat squirms their way into his lap, wriggling around until they have their belly in the air. “What, you want belly rubs?” He asks, getting a chirping noise in response, and he laughs through his nose, setting down the coffee cup. “Alright, bossy.” From this angle he can pretty clearly tell that it’s a female, which solves that question, and her fur is _ soft _ under his hand.

Chan’s careful to keep his touch light, but the cat just curls around his hand, gentle purring leaving her. She's warm in his lap, a solid weight disguised as a ball of fur, and he can't help but smile. Before he can settle into the feeling too much, the sense he's being watched is back, settling over his shoulders like a tangible weight. Somehow this time it feels less unsettling, doesn’t send ice down his spine. It feels almost _ curious_.

The cat raises her head, meowing loudly, and leaps off him to take the stairs in two quick leaps.

"Dori, are you bugging this nice man?"

The voice is softer than he expects, almost teasing as it carries over the clearing, and Chan follows the cat’s path- Dori’s path, until she leaps up into someone’s arms.

Dark eyes framed by dark grey hair, a beautiful face that still manages to be unsettling in the same turn. Clothes too thin for the weather. Bare feet on snow.

Something about him sets Chan on edge, but it’s muted now, more subdued as Dori loudly purrs in the figure’s arms. She does her best to headbutt his chin, and the stranger drops his head to nuzzle her back, cooing something to her Chan can’t hear from this distance.

“She wasn’t bugging me at all. Is she yours?” Something about having a conversation with the man feels _ wrong _, but Chan’s never been one to ignore his manners. Those dark eyes fixate on him again, heavy enough it almost turns his tongue to lead.

The stranger hums, taking a few steps more towards the cabin. The snow under his feet doesn’t seem to bother him. Chan hopes it’s just from being so acclimated. “She’s my baby girl. She likes wandering more than her sisters, don’t you Dori?” Dori meows brightly, tail swishing before she squirms out of his grip. He lets her go with no struggle, and she bounds across the snow, leaping right back into Chan’s lap. “She likes you.”

Chan forces a laugh, tries to ignore the way all his instincts are screaming at him as the stranger gets closer still. “I’ve been feeding her, that’s all. I’m Chan, by the way.” He offers his name out of habit, a small voice in the back of his head that sounds like his mother reminding him to not forget his manners.

“You shouldn’t give out your name so easily,” And he’s pinned to the spot as surely as he was restrained, barely able to breath as those dark eyes lock with his. Ice up his spine, breath caught in his throat, Chan just _ stares. _ Then the stranger blinks, too slow and too long, and whatever it was shatters. “You don’t know who wants to take it.”

“U-uh,” Chan finds himself stammering, Dori forgotten in his lap, as he’s stared down. He’s really not sure how to even _ begin _ responding to that, and something about it sets his nerves on fire, every inch of him ready to go right into fight-or-flight.

Then suddenly the stranger’s face crinkles up and he bursts into giggles. They’re light and delicate, ringing throughout the clearing like there’s a million echoes answering in spite of the snow blanketing everything, and the weight on his chest vanishes. “That was mean, I’m sorry. I’m Minho.”

It’s stupid. It’s so, so stupid to say, but his mouth moves before his brain can catch up. “I thought you shouldn’t give your name so easily?” Chan curses himself in his head, immediately looking down at Dori as if she has some sort of answer. The tabby cat just meows up at him, blinking innocently.

“Oh, Channie,” He’s not sure if it’s the nickname or the tone that makes him look up, catch Minho’s half-lidded gaze. “That’s not something I have to worry about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not dead yayeet
> 
> twitter @norudeghosts

**Author's Note:**

> the update schedule for this will be sporadic at best if you want possible progress updates you can follow me on my nsfw twitter @norudeghosts


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